


Off the Court | Grigor Dimitrov

by vvicariouss



Series: Off The Court [1]
Category: Grigor Dimitrov - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Tennis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-08-09 10:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16447727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vvicariouss/pseuds/vvicariouss
Summary: Emira Kelley's career is falling to pieces in the midst of her self-sabotage, but the world she's trying to escape might be the one thing that can save her.An original publication by @cerseiforpresident on Wattpad.





	1. BOOK I: PLAYLIST & DISCLAIMER

i. ... _ready for it?_ by taylor swift

"in the middle of the night in my dreams, I know I'm gonna be with you so I take my time. are you ready for it? baby, let the games begin...I see how this is gon go, touch me and you'll never be alone."

ii. _might die young_ by bobby brackins  & olivia o'brien

"out the window of the fucking SUV, yeah. when I'm out everybody fuck with me, yeah, where I'm at you know that's the place to be yeah...you fuck with me too. I got that good type of love to make your heart go numb."

iii. _tennis court_ by lorde

"it's a new art form showing people how little we care. we're so happy even when we're smiling out of fear. let's go down to the tennis court, and talk it up."

iv. _wylin'_ by always never

"who's supposed to save you now when you out here wylin, phone buzzing on silent? and you don't give a fuck what your man think, riding out the wave til the sun hit...hard to settle down when you need me."

v. _i did something bad_ by taylor swift

****"this is how the world works, you gotta leave before you get left...they're burning all the witches even if you aren't one. so go ahead and light me up. they say I did something bad, then why's it feel so good?"

vi _. end game_ by taylor swift, ed sheeran  & future

"you and me would be a big conversation. and I heard about you, you like the bad ones too. I hit you like bang, we tried to forget it but we just couldn't...reputation precedes me, they told you I'm crazy."

vii. _bad intentions_ by niykee heaton  & migos

"but after everything I still believe in true love, not been able to find it, damn, it tears me up...don't wanna go home, don't wanna be alone. I got some damn bad intentions."

viii. _delicate_ by taylor swift

"dark jeans and your Nike's, look at you...just think of the fun things we could do. cause I like you. this ain't for the best, my reputation's never been worse so you must like me for me."

ix. _leave_ by post malone

"said this bitch is gonna drive me mad. you got just what I been looking for but you can't bring yourself to say no. and I ain't never gonna let you go...I know I should leave you alone."

x. dancing with our hands tied by taylor swift

"my love had been frozen. deep blue but you painted me golden...you said there was nothing in the world that could stop it, I had a bad feeling. and darling, you had turned my bed into a secret oasis. people started talking. putting us through our paces."

__________

**AUTHOR'S NOTE & DISCLAIMER**

The events in this novel are purely fictional. Any similarities to people, events, etc. are entirely coincidental.

I claim no ownership of any lyrics or songs included in this story, they belong to their artists, creators and producers.

All opinions and statements are made **by the characters themselves** and are not intended to offend or upset.

This book will contain swearing, drug & alcohol use and sexual themes.

All content, except for lyrics from songs, belongs entirely to the author.

I hope you love this as much as I do.

 


	2. CAST

** GRIGOR DIMITROV ** ****

_played by himself_

**——————————**

** EMIRA KELLEY **

_played by Kylie Rae_

**——————————**   
Supporting Cast

**John** **Sackville** as **Mick**

**Yon González** as **Martino**

**Brett Cap** as **Xavier Kelley**

**Tristan Tales** as **Tyler Kelley**

**Chantel Jeffries** as **Cartia**

**Vanessa Morgan** as **Rhaeya**

**Kendall Schmidt** as **Mark**

 


	3. Chapter 3

The banging on her door woke Emira Kelley from a peaceful sleep. She blinked a few times, eyes still heavy as she lazily moved her arm to reach for her phone. The dark hotel room concealed the time of day and she'd purposefully removed the alarms set for her by her manager, Mick, who ofttimes seemed more like her boss despite being on her payroll. The knocking didn't stop and it's incessantness indicated that it was him.

"Emira?" his narking voice sounded again. She felt the cool glass of the phone and grasped it.

"What?" she groaned, her memories of the night before a little blurry. _Definitely should've skipped out on the last mojito._

"What did we say about locked doors in the suite?"

"That I'm allowed them because I'm paying for it," she squinted at the bright light of her phone.

"Do you know what the time is? My phone is blowing up here with people asking where you are. You weren't at the suite this morning so I figured you'd gone to the park on your own and I've been looking for you ever since."

"It's two PM," she read off her phone, "did you tell them where I am?"

"You want me to tell all the officials and the media that you are still in bed at two PM during a grand slam when you have a match in an hour?"

"Go ahead," she laughed, reluctantly rolling to the edge of the mattress and standing up, unlocking the door.

Mick burst in, the all-too-familiar look of frustration on his face. Emira sometimes wondered why he didn't just quit working for her, she'd caused him that much trouble it was a miracle he was still around — even if they did get on each other's nerves. She supposed whatever she was paying him must've been enough compensation. Beads of sweat were on his forehead, even in the cool air con of the executive suite they were in.

"Morning sunshine," she smirked. He pulled the curtains aside, revealing the floor-to-ceiling views of Melbourne, Australia. It even _looked_ hot.

"It's afternoon," he huffed, "you have 5 minutes to get your shit together. I've got your gear sorted."

She rubbed her eyes, yawning.

"Can't they postpone it? Say that I was sick?"

"No, because you weren't. You're going to get your ass dressed, get in the car, warm up and play the damn match. _5 minutes,_ " he restated, throwing her custom Nike Court outfit at her from across the room.

"At least say you brought me breakfast," she mumbled, walking to her ensuite and sliding the door closed while she changed, slipping on the white shorts, patterned sports bra and black tank, emblazoned with the signature white tick.

When they stepped outside to get in the car at 2:45, the humidity hit her and made her even less motivated to play her Australian Open semi final against another highly ranked opponent who was probably as pissed off as her manager was about the imminent delay to the match. She figured that gave her an edge.

Emira scrolled through her socials on the way while Mick made some calls to the match officials and her coach Martino tried hopelessly to get her at least excited to play. A berry protein smoothie was all she had time to eat, which wasn't all that bad really, and soon enough they were at the venue, out of the chauffeured car and in the Australian summer heat. Sunglasses shielded her eyes from the cameras that awaited her and her Air Pods blocked out their questions, replacing them with the sound of Post Malone's _Big Lie._

The WTA world number four made her way through the halls leading to Rod Laver Arena, the weight of her bag and country on her back and she cared for nought of it, flashing her Access All Areas pass and entering the warm up area, more concerned about her walk-out song than how she would perform on the court against Mirjana Lučić-Baroni. Warm up kicked off at 3.15, Martino clearly annoyed with her efforts so far. She brushed it off, sure that a win would keep him and Mick happy enough.

Emira entered the court to the tune of Reminder by the Weeknd, as she'd requested, lousily waving at the crowd who had been waiting for her to arrive. _It'll be worth it, I'm sure,_ she wanted to tell them. She spotted Mick and Martino in her players box, blank expressions on their face at the sub-par reception she received from her audience. She set her bag down, unpacking her Wilson racket and engaging in a light pre-match rally with her opponent.

Two rather short sets later and Emira had secured her spot in her fourth Australian Open final. Her team seemed happy enough when she looked to them in the stands, but it was clear that no one else had really been rooting for her except a few people holding an American flag and waving it around violently during the entire match. She fired a few shots into the audience, packing her bag and reluctantly participating in her post-match interview. Australian ex-player-turned-commentator Rennae Stubs approached her in the middle of the court with a camera man as the sun beat down relentlessly.

"Well, that was all over with rather quickly, Emira. Congratulations on booking your fourth AO final. Were you surprised to see it over so quickly?"

"I guess so, yeah," she nodded, stirring the pot, "I had expected a bit more of a fight from Mirjana but something worked in my favour today and now it's about focussing on the next match."

"Do you think that Mirjana will be happy with that comment?" Rennae laughed.

"I think it gives her something more to think about than booking her flight home. I'm not worried about what she thinks of my opinion on her game. She played well but I played better and now I've got another match to think about."

"Certainly one way to put it," Stubs nodded, "we'll be seeing an all-American final for the women's this year, are you excited to battle it out against whichever of the William's sisters comes out on top later today?"

"Personally, I don't really get caught up on the whole country thing. A player's a player, regardless of where they come from. I don't feel that I play for America, I feel that I play for me. But look, either William's sisters are great athletes and it'll definitely be a challenge for me regardless of who comes out on top but I think I'm ready for it," she answered swiftly, knowingly allowing her reputation to slip further and further down the drain.

"And your brothers are about to play in the men's doubles over at Margaret Court Arena against Cabal and Farah, do you have a prediction for that match?"

"I'd like to see them come out on top, yeah, but I haven't watched any of their matches so far in the tournament so my prediction would be biased on family rather than based on form."

"Would you ever consider playing mixed doubles with Xavier or Tyler?"

"I wouldn't consider playing doubles, period. I've never been a team player and that's just me, I don't think doubles is my game. I like being alone and having the court to myself, being in control. I'd also likely strangle either of them if we were to play together."

Renae laughed and Emira felt the interview coming to a close. She soon strolled off the court, neglecting to sign any of the dangling tennis balls after she'd already signed the camera.

The hallways of the arena provided a much cooler temperature to the court outside, and she felt her body relax a lot more as the red in her face drained to a much more natural skin tone. Martino awaited her, offering a hug and a huge smile, congratulating her on the win and making her feel a little better about it.

"Where's Mick?" she asked, disappointed to not see him there to congratulate her. Not that it meant anything, she just liked that he was cranky with her and still had to say it.

"He's waiting in the press room," Martino informed her. _Ew, the press room,_ she remembered that her day wasn't over. They continued to exit Rod Laver Arena, Emi burying her head in her phone and the photos of her that had been uploaded to the AO instagram page. While doing so and making her exit, she heard an all-too-familiar voice chatting with his coach. Emira didn't need to look, she could recognise his accent anywhere. She recalled something about his match being next up.

"Such a short match," she heard Grigor Dimitrov say to his coach as she got closer, "what was the hold up?"

"Me," she chimed while passing him in the hall, not slowing to a stop or even looking in his direction, "go get 'em, Grish."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've officially reached halfway with pre-writing this beautiful baby that I've grown to love so deeply over the months I've been working on it (I hope you love reading it!). As a celebration, here is the prologue. I am so excited to release the full book soon...see you in a few months time :)


	4. I

Emira watched as another grand-slam title opportunity passed her by in the form of Serena Williams’ shot that flew just out of her racket’s reach. The crowd erupted with cheers in her opponent’s favour, and Emira happily took a breather now that the competition was complete. She hugged her long-time friend at the net, retreating to her bench while the celebrations for Serena began. Sweat dripped down her face under the stark white lights of the arena, and she smiled in her loss knowing that it was over. A title would’ve been nice, but it wasn’t really on her mind.

 

She left the court, briefly waving the 2017 women’s final crowd goodbye after the awkward award ceremony. Her speech was less than exciting, as everyone had expected. She thanked those she wanted to and left it at that. Mick quickly reminded her of the imminent press conference.

“You’re kidding,” she rolled her eyes, “I just finished.”

“No, you’re almost finished, come on,” he rushed her along to the press room where she hoped the proceedings would be quick so she could shower and go out for a celebratory drink. Emira took a seat behind the microphone, swivelling on the chair while the air-conditioning lowered her body temperature as she waited for the first question.

 

Mindlessly and routinely, she answered them all with the same rehearsed spiel, give or take a few words. She briefly wondered if she could put in a request with tournaments to not do any press. _It would make me look too serious a player though,_ she realised, and that wasn’t at all what she wanted. One question sparked her attention though.

“Emira, you’ve beaten Serena before and you’re a player who is capable of taking her to three sets. Considering this and the form you’ve been in so far this year, is it possible that you didn’t give this match your full effort?”

“Yep,” she nodded.

“So you threw the match?” another called.

“No, I just didn’t care that much about winning it,” she shrugged, “is that all?”

 

No one else asked anything of importance, and out of the Australian Open press room she strode. Mick and Martino offered to take her to dinner after they’d gone to the hotel, but she declined for the more appealing option of drinks with her entourage in one of the clubs she’d enjoyed a little too much a few nights before.

 

She woke up the next afternoon with an all too familiar headache and a reminder that her Aus Open obligations weren’t _entirely_ complete.

“I have to go to that?” she groaned from the messy hotel bed of the player’s afterparty which was to commence that evening.

“You’re the runner up for the title, yes, you have to go,” he laughed humourlessly.

“But it’s so boring,” she rolled around frustratedly, “I had plans with Cartia and Rhaeya. We had an invite.”

“It’s cancelled, you’re coming to the player’s party. Demi will be here in 20 minutes to get you ready,” he told her, pointing to the closet, “and you can choose any of the dresses hanging there to wear.”

“As _if_ I’m wearing a dress,” she flopped her head back against the pillows, scrolling through emails Mick had forwarded her about potential upcoming modelling campaigns, ignoring all things tennis-related for a moment.

“It’s a formal event, Emira!” he called as he left her room.

 

Formal it may have been, but Emira was not one to follow guidelines. She arrived sans Mick and Martino, with Cartia and Rhaeya flanking her on the blue carpet as she posed for the camera in her red sweatpants, black Calvin Klein crop top and Saint Laurent heels; the final item the only thing formal about her get-up aside from her makeup. Flashes went off everywhere but were dulled by the dark lenses of her Céline sunglasses. Her and her best friends enjoyed the limelight while everyone else enjoyed the sophisticated party that began around an hour ago.

 

Straight past the bouncers she and her squad walked, confidence in their stride while the attendees looked the three of them up and down as if they weren’t supposed to be there at all. _Perfect,_ she smiled, removing her shades and heading straight to the bar to start what she considered to be pre-drinks for the night out she had planned once she’d finished here.

 

Mick soon approached.

“That’s not the dress you were wearing when I left,” he looked at her suspiciously.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have left so early.”

“I left on time,” he raised a brow.

“Not on my time,” she picked up her vodka lime soda and clinked it against whatever he had already been holding, “made it though, didn’t I?”

“Everyone’s going to be talking about this tomorrow,” he gestured to her attire.

“Good,” she smirked, “cause I look _great_.”

 

She strode away with her girls, both of whom were dressed semi-formally. Emira enjoyed standing out though and wasn’t fazed that they didn’t join her in her blatant rejection of the dress code. Among those adhering to the rules, she spotted her brothers; two of the only people of interest in the room. Cartia and Rhaeya would handle themselves, so Emira happily left them be for the company of her family, avoiding conversation with multiple fellow guests on her way to them.

“Hi darlings,” she teased and they instinctively opened up the circle of three to include her.

“Emira,” the older of the two coughed, “glad you could make it.”

“Mm,” she smiled, waiting for them to continue on their conversation, “oh, don’t let me interrupt. Go on.”

“Sorry, Grish,” Tyler, her younger brother apologised to the third man in the circle.

“Hey, Mira,” she heard as he looked her up and down.

“What are you wearing?” Xavier asked, clearly hostile.

“Yeah, really, what is going on here?” Tyler added.

“Why? You guys wanna match next time?” she smiled falsely, turning to Grigor, “congratulations on your semi final. Quite the feat to take Rafa to five sets.”

“You saw?” he seemed surprised.

“I saw the news. My manager insists on playing it throughout the suite,” she spoke honestly, knowing full well how it was coming across.

 

He looked at her oddly. _I’m not the Emira he knew,_ she thought with a smile, _and he just worked it out._

“How are you recovering from your final?” he asked.

“A few mojitos seemed to cure everything,” she laughed, remembering the vodka soda in her hand, “which reminds me.”

She drank half of it in 10 seconds, and when she looked up from her glass her prissy brothers were gone and she was left in conversation with Grigor. _Oh, spare me._

 

For Emira, it was funny to think back to her teens and early twenties. She didn’t recognise herself in those years, but she saw a glimpse of _Mira_ in the eyes of her teenage crush and best friend as he looked back at her, confused at who she’d become and what on earth they would talk about having found themselves alone together in the crowd.

“You playing Qatar?” he asked, politely. _You sound like Martino,_ she wanted to roll her eyes.

“If I feel like it,” she sighed, sipping again, “the Open might only be two weeks but God it makes me want a holiday.”

“You’ve changed,” he laughed, and something in her turned sad.

“For the better, I’m sure,” she covered, disappointed that he was so casual in acknowledging her not-so-nice traits, which she was sure he was doing.

“Yeah,” he nodded and smiled, tapping his shoes together and holding a hand out to her when he looked up, “do you want to dance? You used to love a good dance.”

“I have a boyfriend,” she blurted before she could stop herself. The statement had become so routine that she didn’t even consider who was asking.

“We were friends once,” he reminded her. _And maybe more than,_ she reminisced in a second.

“I recall,” she took his hand and reluctantly allowed him to lead her to the dance floor where couples and friends alike danced along to a song that was way too slow for a party that was supposed to be a celebration…not that it felt much like one to her in the first place as she placed her drink down on a side table.

 

His hand took to the bare skin at her waist, feeling intensely familiar the second it did. She placed an arm at his shoulder and another hand in his, bringing up feelings she thought she’d forgotten and soon made a conscious effort to.

“I like your outfit,” he complimented, “not what I would’ve expected you to wear but I guess that’s what you were going for.”

“You don’t think I’m underdressed?” she challenged his unfailing politeness.

“Maybe so,” he tilted his head, avoiding her eyes, “but it looks good on you.”

 

Emira had become a different person in the time since she’d last engaged in any real conversation with Grish, and there was absolutely no reason for them not to have seen each other so she considered this to be either bad luck or a twist of fate, but she was sure that he hadn’t changed at all. He was still the same charmer, polite and a bit too flirty but always respectful and the most handsome man in any given room at any given time. _Those stupid brown puppy eyes,_ she laughed to herself, unable to keep her mind from travelling back to the times they shared together. He’d been like a brother to her when they were teenagers, and she was incredibly disturbed at nineteen to realise she had a crush on him, but ecstatic when she was sure that he liked her too, even if neither of them ever said a word about it to each other, going about their friendship — each filled with angst and adoration over the other.

 

Now, she had a boyfriend who was so different to him that he might as well have come from another planet, and a reputation that was plummeting to rock bottom with everything she did. _And I really couldn’t care less,_ she thought, but the feeling of his hand in hers made her want to care and she hated it.

“You could’ve beat Serena,” he told her.

“You watched?” she asked, calmly.

“Mm. Why didn’t you win?”

“Because I lost,” she put her defences up again.

“You know you could’ve won, though.”

“Yes,” she admitted, acting as if it meant nothing.

“Why didn’t you fight?” he tilted his head and she avoided his gaze.

“I didn’t want to,” she sighed, uncomfortable with where he had taken the conversation.

 

He nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer he’d received as if it was what he’d expected. She hated being predictable, and now he was just annoying her. They continued to dance, and she tried to come up with non-tennis things to talk about but was finding it hard. _We don’t know each other anymore,_ she reminded herself, frustratedly, _what else do we really have to talk about?_

“What were you talking to the boys about?” she asked, not really caring.

“You and me,” he said and she was internally startled.

“What about you and me?” she scrunched up her nose.

“Playing doubles.”

 

_What?_ she nearly spat, sure that she heard him correctly and that she wasn’t happy about it. She took a quick breath and tried to maintain her facade.

“Excuse me?”

“Mixed doubles,” he said.

“I know what you mean by doubles, what do you mean they were talking to you about it?”

“They made a suggestion that we should play together, I said it sounds alright but I don’t think you like the idea of it, by the look on your face,” he alerted her to the expression she’d let naturally become her features.

“Grish, my brother’s don’t do my deals for me,” she asserted, “and they sure as hell never will.”

 

Emira quickly stepped out of Grigor’s arms with an aggressive goodbye that might as well have been a shouted insult with the contempt behind it. She marched around the large party with fury in her steps while she hunted for Xavier or Tyler, whichever she found first. _Idiots,_ she remarked in her head and aloud. Mick spotted her and tried to talk, but she passed him as she spotted Xavier’s dark hair and loud laugh at something Jack Sock had said.

“You think you run my show now?” she interrupted, grabbing her brother’s arm.

“Emira,” he looked at her both surprised and annoyed, shaking her off, “what are you talking about?”

“You and Tyler? Your little sneak deal to get me playing doubles? It’s off. Who the hell do you think you are?”

“You need to calm down,” he said quietly.

“No, you need to stay the fuck out of my business and think about your own damn career!” she shouted at him, “at least I made it to my god-damned final. Pass that on to Tyler, too. All of it,” she snapped, “and don’t cross me again.”

 

With that, she stormed out with all eyes on her, sliding her shades back on and ignoring everyone but her girls who fell in behind her as the three of them exited, likely to make headlines tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- A/N -
> 
> Emira Kelley, you're in for a wild season. Not sure how often I'll be posting these chapters but I hope you're enjoying so far 💜


	5. II

“Just like that, yes, Emi, perfect,” the photographer called while she stared down the lens with sultry eyes. There must’ve been at least ten people watching her as she modelled the line in the upscale Los Angeles house, plus neon lights and another camera capturing behind the scenes footage, but Emira felt completely at peace. Though she was exhausted from the 5am alarm she’d had to set so she would make it to the shoot; in front of the camera and amongst the chaos, she was thriving.

 

Mick had been ducking in and out, pretending to check that everything was going smoothly when really what he was checking was whether she was still where he thought she was. _He shouldn’t be so worried today,_ she rolled her eyes, _I’m where I want to be._ The shoot was for a friend’s clothing line, and though she saw it as a favour there appeared to be a price tag on Emira Kelley’s time and brand, and she’d been paid a hefty sum for a few hours being photographed in clothes she loved.

 

She changed into her final look and the shoot was finished in the next 30 minutes. Mick awaited her with the reminder that they were heading straight to her house to train on her home court, something she’d been dreading all day. She left in the sweats she’d arrived in, her glam done for a night out in the city rather than on the court. To her, the idea was mundane.

 

Still, she followed him to the car and checked her phone for one of the first times that day, posting a photo from a recent shoot to her Instagram and watching the likes and comments roll in. Being one of the most followed athletes was one of the things Emi enjoyed about her job, even though there weren’t many to enjoy at present.

“Your bag is all done for Dubai, so you just have to shower and then we’ll head to the plane,” Mick informed while she scrolled through comments, liking and replying to some.

“Please do not remind me about Dubai,” she muttered.

“You love Dubai.”

“I love the city, not the occasion,” she looked at him as if it should’ve been obvious she didn’t want to go play in the Dubai Tennis Championships, and by the look on her face it was. Mick wasn’t fazed.

“Well, you’re signed up for the tournament and the draw has been confirmed so we’re going,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“What if I don’t want to?” Emira put her phone down, annoyed.

“Why do you not want to?” he asked, exhausted.

“Because I need a break? Australia was intense, I don’t want to do anything for a while.”

“World number four’s don’t say that.”

“I just did,” she quipped, opening her phone again.

“We’re going, Mira,” he insisted and she knew that she didn’t really have a choice, _despite it being my career_.

“Cartia and Rhaeya are coming so if you haven’t got room for them on the flight then I won’t be on it.”

“There is room for them on the flight, it’s your plane.”

“Thank God,” she exhaled a sigh of slight relief, “commercial to Australia was a bitch.”

 

Mick didn’t respond and they each remained buried in their phones until they arrived at her house, Emira’s eyes heavy and her stomach grumbling. She managed a protein bar before reluctantly meeting Martino on the court. Even if she didn’t at all feel like playing _or_ going to Dubai, she found that it was a bit of a frustration release to play some tough rallies against him. Sweat glistened on her face, even in the evening of an LA winter, and Martino met her at the net.

“You’re serving angry today,” he laughed at her, “do that in Dubai, too, yes?”

“Oh, I will,” she met his hand in a friendly shake.

 

While showering, she made sure to take as long as possible so as to delay the inevitable. Slowly, she washed her hair and cleaned the makeup and sweat from her skin, watching the water trickle down her tattoos and admiring them again. She laughed as she remembered her mother’s face at the sight of her half sleeve, knowing that she’d never love it the way Emira did. Mick soon knocked on her bathroom door and told her she had to hurry up, taking her out of her moment of peace. _If it’s my plane, it’ll leave when I get there,_ she resisted yelling back as she dried herself and threw on a new pair of sweats, farewelling her LA bedroom and walking downstairs where her entourage stood travel-ready. _All for me, and I don’t even want to go,_ she sighed, making way for the car after greeting Cartia and Rhaeya.

 

Her two best friends were hyped for Dubai, but of course, they weren’t working _or_ footing the bill. Mick and Martino slept in two of the lay flat seats at the back of the jet, while Emi’s girls sang along to Drake’s _Take Care_ album and she sat between them, exhausted but too overrun with thought to close her eyes and rest for the matches she was soon set to unwillingly play. It seemed that everyone had forgotten she was there as she sat with her earphones in, staring out at the world beneath them while they flew over it. The girls enjoyed themselves and the perks of a private jet while the boys slept as if they were the ones preparing for a tournament. _And here I am, unhappy._

 

She awoke to the wheels gliding onto the tarmac, not having remembered falling asleep. Her eyes were still weighted and the feeling of jet-lag combined with general tiredness and an unmotivated attitude had her slumped and mumbling as they exited the flight into the heat of Dubai. _If only I were here to lay by the pool,_ she wished, hoping that Cartia and Rhaeya had packed her some bikinis for any days off she got. If they didn’t, she’d send them to buy her some. Mick arranged them from tarmac to hotel suite, and Emira was officially and reluctantly back in work mode.

 

Though the interviewer who congratulated her on the title called it a whirlwind tournament, the week couldn’t have gone slower for her. The term “whirlwind” was the reporter’s nice way of putting her behaviour during the competition: showing up late and without an ounce of respect for the prestige of the sport. And of course, her nighttime drinking which made her less-than-polite the day after.

 

Despite her small slices of freedom during the tournament, it had felt dragged out with days hotter than hell and the crowds far too dead for her liking, and she’d only tried in her matches to avoid the embarrassment of losing against people she could beat. She’d done that many times before, but some days she felt like she cared to win more than others. Dubai gave Emira her first title of 2017 and she was glad it was over with. And apparently so was the media.

 

**_The Diva Wins Dubai_** , she read the title of the article Mick had promptly emailed her as soon as he’d been alerted to it by her family’s public relations manager. He watched her sternly as she glanced over it and laughed, satisfied. He clearly wasn’t.

“What’s funny?” he questioned, unamused.

“I like the title,” she shrugged, “it’s clever.”

“Yes, it is clever. It’s also not good.”

“Oh, lighten up. It’s one article and I really don’t care what some keyboard warrior thinks of how I played,” she trashed the email.

“It’s not one article and it’s not just about how you played.”

“You know I don’t read articles so go on and enlighten me,” Emira folded her arms from across the breakfast table, barely awake as was. The tournament had finished but her team still had her in a work mindset. All she could think about was swimming with a mojito in one hand and phone in the other so she could FaceTime her boyfriend. The resort pool was calling her name, while Mick was nearly shouting it.

“ _Though Kelley was able to take out the title with a seeming ease, her performances didn’t have the same effect on crowds, many members of which were disappointed to hear they would be watching her play over the likes of Svitolina and Wozniacki,_ ” he read.

“Mick, read my lips,” she leant across the table, “I don’t care.”

“Damn it, Emi, you should. Because _Nike_ does,” he snapped and she came to attention.

“What does _Nike_ want?”

“Their rep who’s out here for the tournament has requested a meeting in light of your behaviour,” he informed. _That’s new,_ she panicked a bit, suppressing the emotion as best she could and trying to ascertain what Mick was really saying without seeming overly interested.

 

Whatever he was talking about, it didn’t sound good and she wasn’t a fan of it. Something felt off, in fact, something had felt off since the Australian Open, and she felt like she was being played in more ways than one since she’d danced with Grigor at the player’s afterparty. _Something isn’t right and this time, it’s not me,_ she was sure. She’d done nothing new and nothing old, so what could be the problem?

“You sound like a school principal, can you calm down please? We’re at breakfast,” she tried to take control of the conversation again.

“It’s 11am,” Mick stated.

“Then call it brunch,” she smiled sarcastically, “I’m eating and I don’t want a lecture, just tell me what is going on.”

“This could be the end of your sponsorship so can you please care for a minute?” he asked and she lost her self control.

“What do you mean the end of my sponsorship?” she exclaimed, louder than intended. He sighed and Martino joined them at the table as if he’d planned to stay away while Mick dropped the news that everyone but her had seemed to know.

“The exact words were _to discuss the future of our partnership with Emira_. We just re-signed a year-long deal a few months ago. This isn’t a contract renewal, it’s going to be a termination,” he exhaled, now much calmer than she.

“Great,” she sat back, her mood more ruined than before.

“I want you to come with us to the meeting,” Mick announced, looking to Martino for support.

“They’ll want to see you there. To know you at least care,” her coach tried to plead Mick’s case.

“There is no chance of that,” she snapped, furiously, “if they’re dropping me, they’re dropping me and I’m at least going to enjoy my last day of the trip I didn’t want to take until you both forced me on a plane.”

“You’re coming with us because this might be your only chance to save the deal. And, I’ve sent the girls home.”

 

Mick was acting more boss than manager and it was doing Emira’s head in.

“Excuse me?”

“They left this morning and went back to LA. They’re fine, I just need you to focus on this because we are essentially in crisis mode.”

“Never thought you’d tell me that after I _won a title_.”

“Neither did we but it’s not just about what you do on the court,” Martino said, the slightest hint of sadness in his voice. Emira’s phone rang and she saw her mother’s photo pop up. Usually, she’d ignore but right now she needed any excuse to get away from the table. She took the phone and strutted outside of the resort breakfast restaurant and into the lobby, sunglasses hopefully concealing her identity enough. She hadn’t been this stressed in a long time, but the _Nike_ thing had come out of nowhere for her and it was the one thing about her career that she really didn’t want to lose.

 

Reluctantly, she answered the call and breathed.

“Hi, mom.”

“Hi Mira,” her mom started, “I’m surprised you picked up, I thought you’d still be celebrating.”

“Yep, just having brunch with M&M, it’s a real blast.”

“You sound excited,” she teased, sarcastically.

“Just tired, what’s up?”

“I just wanted to ring and congratulate you on the title, darling.”

“Thank you,” she sighed, doing her best to mask her stress, “where are you?”

“Sofia Open with the boys.”

“Of course,” she rolled her eyes, “I bet you’re all having a great time at a men’s only event.”

“It’s not so bad,” she laughed, “Grish is here.”

“Good for Grish?” Emira grew annoyed and wished she’d just sent her mom to voicemail.

“I hear that you two might be teaming up soon.”

“Okay, who told you that?” she snapped, “that is _not_ what’s happening. Please do not talk to me about it.”

“The boys told me about it, I thought you were on board, and I would like it if you were.”

“Good thing I don’t need your approval because I am most certainly not on board,” she asserted, growing more and more worked up.

“Why not, Mira?”

“Because I don’t _do_ team work. I’m not a team player. I play for me, not for a team and if I wanted to play that way; I’d have double the titles that I don’t care for,” she near shouted.

“Emira,” her mother warned.

“Yeah, okay, hit me with another speech about how grateful I should be because you would’ve loved to still be playing the way I am. I don’t want to hear it. Just send me a text when I win my next title,” she hung up, even more frustrated than before.

 

She stormed back to the table where her team were so obviously in awkward conversation about how to handle her during the meeting.

“Let’s go get this over with,” she instructed, not bothering to finish her food as she let Mick order a car for the meeting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol Emira thinking she has control over this situation, sorry sis, you're really in for it. Vote, comment and enjoy <3


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